His phone rang. Derek didn’t recognize the number although it was the San Antonio area code. For a second he was tempted to ignore it, but it might be Susan or the police in charge of Breanna’s accident.
It wasn’t either of them.
Instead, the voice on the phone was warm and feminine, sounding young yet with a depth of experience.
“Derek?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Grace. Grace Colson.”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Colson?”
He wanted to hang up, but rudeness had been baked out of him by Angie’s life lessons.
“I’m your mother, Derek.”
He should have hung up immediately.
"My mother died almost three years ago."
"Angie McPherson didn’t give birth to you, Derek. I did."
He stared straight ahead at the view of the man-made lake Lionel Adams had dug right after building the house. A small rowboat sat at the dock, bobbing with the waves created by the wind.
"I'm sorry they didn't tell you you were adopted, Derek. I honestly thought they had."
"They told me."
She didn’t speak and the silence between them was awkward.
"I never felt the need to look you up," he finally said.
"Nor did I expect you to."
"Then why are you calling me now, Ms. Colson?"
Had she heard of Breanna’s fortune? The Herald hadn’t mentioned it, but the rival San Antonio paper had publicized Breanna’s wealth. Maybe his birth mother wanted a piece of the action.
"Because I think you’re in danger, Derek,” she said, startling him.
He debated for a millisecond about continuing the conversation, then realized that his birth mother was probably charitably labeled a nut. Tragedy brought out all kinds of people and evidently she’d emerged from under whatever rock had hidden her until now.
"How did you get my number?"
"That doesn't matter. What does matter is that you take precautions to protect yourself. Please."
He hung up before she could say another word.
Grace tucked the phone into her apron pocket and took the hallway to the back of the house, hesitating in front of an iron studded door. The ancient oak was four inches thick and had been transported to Texas from a castle in Scotland. Each time she opened the door she placed her hand flat against the wood, feeling the warmth of it. There was still life there and it pulsated against her palm.
She bowed her head slightly, murmuring the words she always said each time she crossed this threshold. "Thank you for your gift to me."
Half of the Great Room was devoted to relaxation. The other half was outfitted with a wide six foot long table at the back, and six sets of shelves filled with what she needed for her experiments. Her throne-like chair sat at the table. In front of it was a shallow hammered brass bowl. An apprentice had told her once that it reminded him of a paella pan and she’d never forgotten the description. The water, blessed by a priest with an expansive worldview, shimmered as she approached, almost as friendly as her dog and cat. Neither liked to be in this room when she was scrying, giving credence to her thought that animals, especially companion animals, had an ability to sense magic. They remained in other parts of the house until she was finished, then joined her on the far side of the room.
There, two couches faced each other in front of the arched white brick fireplace. A large mahogany coffee table holding a collection of books and three cactus plants in terra cotta containers sat between them. Above the fireplace was a sixty inch television that had been mounted by Tom of Tom’s TV. Tom believed himself thoroughly adept in technology, electronics, politics, popular culture, and history. He’d even claimed to be a relative of Houdini, a topic that led him to discuss magic, of all things.
"I don't believe in it myself," he said. "A bunch of foolishness, if you ask me. Whatever happened to church? Praying to God, not Satan."
He had no idea who she was. She’d banished her tools until he was out of the house. Yet she simply couldn't let that comment stand.
"A great many practitioners of magic attend church on a weekly basis. They also believe in God. They don’t pray to the devil."
He'd had the effrontery to wink at her. "You and I don't know the same witches, then, honey."
She’d given up after that. There were a great many fallacious ideas about witchcraft and magic out in the world. Magic wasn't a parlor trick. No one she knew sawed anyone in half or coaxed a bunny from a hat.
Magic was a state of mind, a philosophy, a way of being. Yet some people, even those in NASACA, would never fully internalize the wonder that magic could bring. They would think of it only as a skill and not a mindset. Those were the saddest individuals she knew. Although they had been born to magic and therefore instantly accepted into NASACA, they would never truly and wholly embrace who and what they were.
As she sat and placed her hands on the arms of the chair, staring down into the bowl of water she thought about her son. Her beloved Derek.
The future wasn’t revealing itself to her as it always had. Instead, there was a veil across her vision, almost as if someone had spelled her. What she couldn’t see, however, disturbed her because she could feel it well enough. There were forces being arrayed against Derek, challenges that were about to face him and he was ill-equipped for them.
What had she thought he would say?
She hadn’t made an attempt to contact Derek for forty-one years. Even though she had followed his life closely, attending most of the important events that marked milestones in his life in person, she’d never stepped forward and introduced herself.
Doing so today was probably a mistake, but she simply couldn’t sit by without making an effort to protect him.
Things were happening. Events were being put into motion that she could not control. Derek was a threat to powerful people and yet he didn’t know it. He didn’t know who he was. Paul and Angie might’ve told him he was adopted, but the secret of his heritage was always to remain hidden. That rule would still have been enforced if Breanna hadn’t fallen in love with him.
She shouldn’t have called him. It had been a foolish, impulsive, idiotic gesture. He’d hung up on her. No doubt he was angry. Or maybe he just thought she was some kind of fool.
She might well be, but she was going to save her son.